


What are you doing New Year's Eve?

by aura_is_purple



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, New Year's Eve, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aura_is_purple/pseuds/aura_is_purple
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and Ginny and Mike get drunk (and then sober, real quick).





	

“Here, drink this.”

 

Ginny looks up from her phone to see a flute of champagne in front of her, held by Evelyn.

 

“What’s in it?”

 

“It’s a cranberry! It’s festive.”

 

Ginny’s trying valiantly to enjoy herself at the Sanders’ annual New Year’s Eve party, the most elaborate of their holiday parties. The house is stuffed to the gables with cater-waiters, garlands, and designer Christmas ornaments. Ginny’s counted six trees around the house of different themes, including one featuring every ornament available in the Padres’ dugout store.

 

Evelyn loves the holidays like most people love sleeping in or that new car smell.

 

Ginny isn’t so much a bah humbug type, but this year is uniquely lonely for her. Her brother is AWOL, her mom is at home on the east coast, and Ginny spent Christmas day watching Netflix and dodging texted party invitations from Eliot.

 

How she ended up at a huge and rambling party is purely the magic of Evelyn Sanders and her mom guilt skills.

 

Ginny takes a sip, letting the bubbles fill her up and then tries to pull off a convincing smile. “You look like an actual Christmas present in that thing!”

 

Evelyn does a little twirl in her red cocktail dress, making the red bow of her neckline bounce adorably. “I just love it, don’t you?” She laughs, and then leans in conspiratorially. “It helps keep the focus off the freshman 15, or so my stylist says.”

 

Ginny slyly scopes out Evelyn’s waistline, which looks as svelte as usual. “You started the program as a sophomore, and you are insane if you think you’ve gained weight from one semester at school.”

 

“You’re so sweet to lie!”

 

Ginny scoffs and knocks back some more champagne.

 

“Enough about me and my stress eating. That dress is killer, lady. Did Amelia arrange it for you?”

 

Ginny readjusts the short hem of her black minidress, self-consciously flitting her fingers over the exposed skin on her abs. This was the only option that looked decent with her black arm splint. “I actually picked this out myself, and even bought it. I shouldn’t have let the girl talk me into the cutouts because I’m freezing.”

 

“Impossible, because you look smoking hot.”

 

Ginny narrows her eyes at Evelyn, but thanks her for the compliment.

 

“Don’t you worry, there are heaters outside if you want to take a look at what I had them do to the pool.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Evelyn gets accosted by an overzealous party guest and Ginny takes her chance to pivot over to the bar for another glass of champagne.

 

A lot of the team is there, including Coach and Levan and most of the front office. Ginny hasn’t seen much of them since the end of the season, and wasn’t expecting to until pitchers and catchers report for spring training in mid February.

 

Eliot is waiting for his beer at the bar, and Ginny gets in line behind him.

 

“Looking good, Baker.”

 

Ginny turns around to see Mike Lawson, in all of his tuxedoed finery, just as beardy as she remembers. And she definitely doesn’t still think about the feel of it on her cheek, not at all.

 

She smiles. She can’t help herself--the man knows the power of a good tailor. “You look pretty shitty, actually. Are you eating only cheese doodles in the offseason?”

 

Mike smiles wide, no doubt thinking of a comeback for her, but it’s her turn in line. “Can I get another glass of champagne? This time without the berry in it, thanks.”

 

The server has to pop another bottle of Cliquot open, and Ginny turns to consider Lawson in the interim.

 

He looks like he’s been considering her carefully while her back was turned, and jolts his eyes back up to her face.

 

“Keep your focus, Lawson.”

 

“Sorry, I was distracted by the holes in your, uh, outfit there. Is your rookie salary so crappy you couldn’t buy a whole dress?”

 

“It’s called fashion. Maybe you should look it up sometime.”

 

Mike’s face softens towards her, and she can sense the beginning of his laugh forming. She doesn’t have to wait any longer for his reply because Coach is trying to get her attention at the fireplace. Which is just as well because any more time with her catcher in that tux and she might let her facade of professional bullshitting crack.

 

***

 

“Ginny, you gotta take some advice from your elders.”

 

Ginny and Al are sitting together on a loveseat, swapping party survival strategies.

 

“I always try to position myself near the kitchen, so I get first crack at the little trays going by. I love the shrimp thingies, you know, the ones with the sauce?”

 

“Shrimp cocktail?”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

 

“I’m more of a chips and salsa girl myself.”

 

“I’m glad, because that means I don’t have to feel bad about eating the one on your plate.”

 

“Go ahead, Coach.”

 

Al nabs the shrimp off her plate and smiles before he bites into it. “You’re my favorite girl on the team, Baker.”

 

Ginny laughs, offering him her cocktail napkin. “You’re my favorite manager, skipper.”

 

“Good to know, Baker. Good to know.”

 

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, enjoying the lull in the party.

 

Ginny grabs another glass of champagne from a passing caterer. “I find if I keep drinking at these things they seem to go smoother. That and making up plans so you can leave if you need  
to.”

 

“You wanna know my best play at parties like this?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I may be Italian, but I’ve mastered the Irish farewell.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s when you sneak out of a party without saying goodbye to anyone, and save yourself the trouble of getting back late. My goal for New Year’s is to be in bed watching Sportcenter by 10:30 with a cold beer.”

 

“Wow, you just aged yourself, skip. But I admire your style.”

 

“Don’t say I never gave you any good advice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the waiter with the shrimp is about to hit the dining room first and you know I can’t have that.”

 

Ginny laughs and tips her glass of champagne in his direction. “Go get em!”

 

The skipper then chases down a caterwaiter with the agility and grace he lacks when he’s jogging from the dugout, and Ginny decides to always cherish this moment.

 

***

 

“I’ve discovered that the key to your Instagram success is hashtagging everything aggressively, you know?”

 

Ginny has no idea, but she keeps nodding through her champagne buzz so Eliot will keep talking. If she was going to say something about his suit on Instagram, it would be hipster. She’s reasonably sure that’s what hashtags are for.

 

“Don’t worry, Ginny. I’ve got it all covered. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, Linked In, Tumblr, Youtube. I even have your workouts synced to My Fitness Pal.”

 

“I’m not worried. But I’m pretty sure you made up a few of those things.”

 

“And I’m looking forward to working with your new agent, whenever you sign one.”

 

“Hey, no business talk tonight. Just fun.”

 

“Does that mean no Instagram pic? Or something with a Snapchat filter?”

 

“See, that’s the one I thought you made up.”

 

“It would be great for the fans! You’ve basically disappeared since the injury, you know.”

 

“I know. And as long as I’m not totally sober, I’m not letting you point a phone at me. Are we clear?”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

Ginny clinks her champagne flute with the neck of his beer bottle, and sees something catch her eye through the boozy haze. She thinks it might be Lawson, indiscreetly staring at her from over by the bar. She pretends not to see, and also that she’s interested in platform integration.

 

***

 

Some time later, Ginny is floating on a cloud of champagne. Evelyn grabs her uninjured arm and drags everyone outside to see what her decorators have been up to.

 

It’s really amazing how you can make a San Diego backyard look like a winter wonderland if you have enough money and wherewithal. The pool has been transformed into a frozen pond, with actual snow falling down around it. Carolers are lined around the edge of the water, decked out in Christmas sweaters and little hats that remind Ginny of what you put on small dogs to torment them.

 

“It’s really beautiful, Evelyn,” Ginny says, shivering a bit as she feels the full blasts of the air conditioning that’s probably keeping everything frozen.

 

“It is, isn’t it?”

 

“You cold, hermana?”

 

Ginny tears her eyes away from the carolers, who’ve started singing a peppy rendition of a New Year’s song she doesn’t know the name of. Levan Duarte is behind her, offering her his suit jacket.

 

“Thank, bro. But I’m fine.”

 

“You’re actually shaking, so I don’t believe you.”

 

Ginny’s trying to shrug him off when she feels him drape it over her bare shoulders. Too late to argue now.

 

“Thanks, Levan.”

 

“De nada.”

 

Ginny burrows a little deeper into Levan’s jacket, as the carolers transition into Auld Lang Syne and they might be a while. The party guests around her are all taking videos and snapping their chats or whatever, but she sees Mike Lawson looking only at her from over by the hot tub.

 

He hasn’t looked this intense since, well…

 

Ginny averts her gaze, because somehow they’ve ended up staring at each other. He’s loosened his bowtie a bit and the effect is mesmerizing.

 

The carolers build to their grand finale and Blip and Evelyn throw the first shots in the snowball fight that Evelyn probably scheduled from 11:15- 11:30pm.

 

Levan’s about to throw a clump at her, but she opts out. “I can’t, you know, screw up the arm again.”

 

He shrugs and throws a perfect strike across the backyard at Blip’s sternum, like he’s throwing out a base runner at second. 

 

“Nice, Levan.”

 

A bunch more snow is headed their way now so Ginny ducks across the patio, back inside to warmth and alcohol. 

 

Only she’s not alone. Mike is waiting for the bartender to muddle his old-fashioned, his bow tie looking more like a scarf than anything holding his collar up. The triangle of his neck now exposed demands to be closely examined.

 

“I don’t think that jacket goes with the dress, Baker.”

 

Ginny shrugs it off, depositing it on the arm of the couch nearby. “I was just borrowing it from a friend.”

 

Mike is presented with his cocktail, and he takes a generous swig, eyeing her up.

 

“Looks like your tie is making a run for it. Champagne again, please.”

 

Ginny’s rewarded with Mike’s hand pulling on the loose ends, nervously. “I guess it’s been awhile since I wore one of these, so I’m out of practice.”

 

“I didn’t get the memo that this was a black tie thing.”

 

“Sometimes you just want to look good, I guess.”

 

“Well, good job with that.” Ginny salutes him with her now full glass of champagne.

 

“Thanks.”

 

The moment continues. Just the two of them. Well, the two of them and the bartender and a caterwaiter. Ginny drinks more champagne. Mike meets her eyes over the rim of his glass. It might be the bubbles but Ginny can hear each individual ice cube in his drink clink together. 

 

“I like the splint.”

 

“Oh um, thanks?”

 

“It really, uh, seems to be doing its job.”

 

“PT says I've got at least another month in it.”

 

“That's not too bad. Pitchers and catchers is only two weeks after that.”

 

“Yeah, but they probably won't clear me in time.”

 

“It'll happen when it happens. When it's supposed to.”

 

“I hope.”

 

Some of the guests are coming inside again, dusting off snow and lining up at the bar. Ginny and Mike make way for them, secluding themselves in the corner by the Christmas tree, which is gingerbread themed.

 

Mike looks at the party reconvening around them and speaks low, like he’s at confession. “I had a pretty shitty injury my rookie year too.”

 

“Yeah, you broke your ankle. Home plate collision.”

 

“You know what, Baker, if you could for once pretend you don’t know everything about my career that would be great. I’m trying to paint a picture here,” he says this in in his best clubhouse grump voice but Ginny knows he’s only like, 45% serious.

 

“Do you think I hung your poster up on my wall and then stopped paying attention?”

 

“Okay then, you tell the story.”

 

Ginny leans in closer. The party is louder and more drunk that it was before. “Kevin Mathison caught you at a bad angle in a tied game. They won but your ankle lost and you were out for an entire year, but you came back better than you were before.”

 

“That’s a pretty story.”

 

“It’s an inspiring comeback!”

 

“That version probably sounded pretty good on ESPN, but it left out the pain meds and surgery and rehab and frustration and setbacks and lord, the cast. I think I still have it somewhere.”

 

“That’s pretty gross. Why would you keep that?”

 

“It’s a reminder. And probably a biohazard. But it helps me remember that I’ve been through worse, you know?”

 

Ginny looks down at her splint. Luckily, she didn’t need a cast. 

 

Mike takes her injured elbow in his free hand, gently running his fingers over the healing ligaments and tendons concealed by fabric, elastic, and velcro.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Shhhh.”

 

“Mike, this is weird.”

 

“No, it’s not.” 

 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

 

He rests his uncocktailed hand on her forearm and closes his eyes. “I’m passing on my healing power to you, rook. Be appreciative.”

 

Ginny laughs, pulling her arm away from his grasp. “Save it for your knees.”

 

“My knees are hopeless. But you, you. Aren’t.”

 

“Mike Lawson. Are you drunk?”

 

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk….Ok, I’m pretty buzzed.”

 

Ginny takes a moment to assess. She’s definitely got a healthy buzz on. Her feet no longer hurt in her high heels. She feels warm, a bit like she’s got a candle burning in her chest. “I feel all, glowy and warm inside. Is this what champagne drunk is?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Hmm. Then, I guess I’m nearly there.”

 

Mike downs the rest of his old fashioned, deposits it on a passing tray and starts pulling at his shirt collar. “I’m starting to really regret wearing this.”

 

“I’m regretting your tux too.”

 

Mike waggles an eyebrow at her, unbuttoning a few buttons and getting to work on his cufflinks. “I feel like I can’t breathe in this thing.”

 

Ginny watches him struggle to free himself from his shirt cuffs, while still wearing his tuxedo jacket. This might be a night to remember. “Maybe if you took off your jacket first--”

 

“Good idea.”

 

He sheds the outer layer, revealing more crisp white shirt and throwing the jacket her way. She catches it and rests it on her splinted arm, getting a whiff of wool, old fashioned and cologne. 

 

“We didn’t set a dress code, but I think Evelyn would prefer it if our guests kept most of their clothes on, Mike.” Blip has appeared, holding a brandy and still looking a bit damp from the snow.

 

Ginny smiles. “I promise I won’t let him strip for us, Blip.” 

 

“And I’ll hold you to that.”

 

Mike is staring down at his cufflinks, like they became rubix cubes when he wasn’t looking. “I don’t strip for less that seven figures or a really good cause.”

 

“I can’t take this anymore. Give me your stupid cuffs, Mike.”

 

“Ok, fine.” Mike closes the gap between them and points his French cuffs up at her. She makes quick work of his left cuff, and then grabs his right cuff and undoes the cufflink, this time noticing that he accessorized his tuxedo with SD insigniaed links. 

 

“God Mike, you are such a nerd. Team cufflinks?”

 

“They were the only ones I could find.”

 

“Damn Mike, I’m not even that lame.”

 

“You have a wife to coordinate your outfits, Blip. I’m on my own. Where is your lovely wife anyway?”

 

“We like to split up at parties and meet later to compare notes, you know, gossip.” Blip is smiling as he says this, appraising the sight of Ginny with her hand resting on Mike’s thick forearm. She gets a hold of herself and hands Mike his jewelry and his tuxedo jacket.

 

“Come on, let’s get your drunk ass to the coat check so you don’t have to carry that around all night.”

 

“I was just gonna tie it around my waist.”

 

Ginny tuts and Blip laughs into his brandy. Ginny leads him by the cuff out of the great room. They disappear down a hallway and Blip pulls out his phone and types a text message.

 

Keep your eyes out, E. Operation bullpen is on

 

***

 

Pulling an uncooperative Mike Lawson across the Sanders’ house is not the workout Ginny had prepared for tonight. Her pumps lack traction on the hardwood floors, and she almost takes a header in the entryway when her foot slips out from under her.

 

Luckily, Mike catches her just in time.

 

“Whoa there, sailor. Maybe I’m not the only drunk one here,” he laughs, helping her steady herself. She feels his fingers on her skin where her dress exposes it-- calloused and warm and electric.

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just, these shoes.”

 

“I know whenever I wear my heels I have the same problem.”

 

Ginny doesn’t reward him with a response, but rolls her eyes out of his eyeline.

 

“Come on, the coat check is in here.” Ginny opens the door to the darkened guest room, revealing a few folding racks of coats and wraps and purses lined up on the bed like a designer showroom.

 

“Isn’t there supposed to be someone in here?”

 

“They must be out hanging with the valet guys. Come on, give me your jacket.”

 

Mike flings it in her direction and she hangs it on an empty hanger, careful to smooth out the shiny lapels.

 

“Come on, let’s get you some water, drunky.”

 

Mike waves her off, sitting on the bed and upsetting a few handbags in the process of doing so. “I just need a minute in the quiet.”

 

Ginny watches him close his eyes and rest his hands on the bedspread. She recognizes this-- it’s his pregame centering routine. She can feel his body react to her sitting down next to him, and can hear a few purses tip over onto the floor to make way.

 

She closes her eyes too, breathing deeply with her catcher until they are in sync.

 

Mike surprises her by getting up and hitting the lock on the doorknob. Her stomach drops, her heart shudders, her mind thinks Oh shit.

 

“Ginny.”

 

Her name, not rookie or Baker or “hey you!”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Ginny looks over at him, her eyes betraying her by flitting from his dress shoes all the way to his face, illuminated in the ambient light from the colored bulbs lining the outside of the window. She blames the treasonous champagne.

 

“Ok.”

 

He paces a bit in front of her, ruffling his hair and scratching his beard as he’s thinking. “It’s been… a long offseason.”

 

“Tell me about it-- I’m in rehab.”

 

“I don’t mean like that… I mean, it’s been long enough for me to realize some things.”

 

Ginny just looks at him, waiting for him to continue. 

 

“Getting back with Rachel was a massive mistake. Like, huge.”

 

“Oh really, I didn’t know you guys were back together.” She’s hoping booze makes her a better liar.

 

Mike raises an eyebrow, but barrels on. “It was over by Halloween. Things that were broken were still broken, you know?”

 

Ginny nods, not sure what she’s agreeing with here.

 

He looks at her intently before continuing. “I know now what I actually want, and I know that I can’t have it. For a while at least.”

 

Her face flushes, and the look he’s giving her is nearly enough to melt her resolve. She touches her warm face with the cool back of her hand, taking a chance to think.

 

“If you’re still with that tech guy, that’s fine. I just had to tell you, once.”

 

Ginny stands up suddenly, a cacophony of bags rustling behind her when she does.

 

“Please shut up, Mike.”

 

He slams his mouth shut, his semi-sober gaze drinking in her sudden proximity.

 

“I’ve been thinking about stuff too. Being on my own for a few months-- I kinda couldn’t avoid it. There’s no Noah, or anyone, not that that’s really anyone’s business, but yeah. I’ve maybe thought about you once or twice. Okay, maybe three times.”

 

Mike’s face is all beard and mirth, but he lets her continue.

 

It’s Ginny’s turn to pace, and she can feel Mike’s eyes appreciating her legs as she stretches them in front of him.

 

“Being on the disabled list makes me feel like this is my chance to make things right, you know?”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“It’s my chance to work on myself, and prepare myself for another season and the pressure.”

 

This he recognizes, nodding solemnly.

 

Ginny stops right in front of him, an idea surprising her with it’s elegance. “You know the purpose of the disabled list, right?”

 

“To keep people on the team while they rehab?”

 

“Wrong answer. Technically, it means I’m off the team so they can call someone else up to replace me, right?”

 

Mike crinkles his eyes, not sure where she’s going with this.

 

Ginny rests her hands on his shoulders. “It means I’m on the DL, so I’m not an active member of the team. So we aren’t technically teammates.”

 

“That’s not… that’s not what that means.” The realization dawns on him and he leans just a fraction toward her.

 

“Now you get it.”

 

“So you’re saying, because you’re on the disabled list, we can, uh--”

 

“Go with me on this, Lawson.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Ginny takes his hand in hers, pushing up his undone shirt cuff to reveal his watch. “It’s 11:56, Mike. Did you have plans to kiss anyone else for New Year’s?”

 

He responds by wrapping his massive hands around her back, pulling her close. She hugs him, her face creasing his shirt, her body almost completely flush with his.

 

“Absolutely not,” he whispers into her hair.

 

She laughs. “Thank God.”

 

He pulls away slightly, and brings his hand up to caress her cheek with his fingers. She grins and reaches for the back of his neck, tracing the skin around his loose collar.

 

“You have your phone turned off, right?”

 

She can feel him laugh, a low rumble in his chest. “Never again, I promise.”

 

He leans in, letting his beard tickle her chin, but not hesitating because that’s what failed them last time. His lips are soft but his intentions are clear. The only thing Ginny can think (besides finally!) is that he kisses like he catches, thoughtfully and thoroughly and with great skill.

 

He tastes like bourbon and breath mints and Mike.

 

Ginny is marveling at his lips on her neck when she hears fireworks off in the distance. It takes her a minute to remember it’s midnight and that they’re at a party full of people who will need to get their coats soon, despite it being San Diego and barely 50 degrees.

 

“Mike, we have to stop.”

 

He hums, “noo” against her ear and she nearly lets him carry on.

 

“Come on, we have to get out of here.”

 

He relents, letting her pull away. “My place.”

 

“Fine, but we have to go now.”

 

Mike takes her unsplinted hand in his, reaching for the door.

 

“No, we can’t leave this party together, or people will talk.”

 

“I really don’t care what people say, Ginny.”

 

Ginny narrows her eyes at him in disbelief. “You will tomorrow, when we’re all over the internet.”

 

“Fine. We’ll meet outside in a few minutes, and get the heck out of here.”

 

“And your sober ass is gonna drive us? I don’t think so.”

 

“Well, if you’re so sober, you figure it out.”

 

Ginny grabs his jacket off the hanger, and finds her satin wrap on a different rack. “I have a plan.”

 

***

 

Ginny carefully closes the door to the guest/coat room, trying to be as stealthy as she can in heels. Mike has already left, hopefully already downing the glasses of water she implored him to sober up with. If he’s still drunk later, they might never get around to what they both really want.

 

Ginny pokes her head out into the hallway, and doesn’t see anyone coming so she hurries her way down to phase two.

 

She doesn’t plan on anyone timing their emergence from the bathroom with her coat room getaway, but she’s relieved that it’s just Evelyn.

 

“Hey! I missed you at midnight!”

 

“Yeah, sorry, I had to uhh, call my mom.”

 

Evelyn puts her hand on her hips. “Oh, really? Didn’t know that was a Baker family tradition.”

 

Ginny thinks this might be hopeless. Of all people, Evelyn could catch her in a lie without Ginny even having to say anything at all. “Well, you know,” she says, unconvincingly.

 

“It’s funny because Mike was just telling me he has to call his grandma every New Year’s at midnight, which seems weird because she lives in Tallahassee. Where it’s been 2017 for three hours.”

 

Ginny sighs--they really should have gone with different alibis. 

 

Evelyn smiles wickedly. That’s all the confirmation she needs, really. “She must be a night owl.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

Evelyn pushes Ginny down the hallway and back to the party, whispering in her ear: “I want details tomorrow morning. Or I‘m driving my hungover self to Lawson’s.”

 

“You got it, boss lady.”

 

“Damn straight.”

 

***

 

It’s nearly 2am and Ginny’s gulping down a huge glass of water at the bar, listening to Oscar talk about his plans for her rehab.

 

“You should really be taking it easy, Ginny. Your PT people tell me you’ve been running every day? You really shouldn’t be doing that. You know no one takes your recovery more seriously that I do.”

 

Ginny finishes off her glass, and the obliging bartender tops her off again. “I don’t see what running has to do with my ligaments repairing themselves, Oscar. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Oscar knows a blow off when he hears one. “Please, just, don’t injure yourself further. The team needs you back as soon as you can get there.”

 

She nods, taking a big pull on her water to avoid an answer. Oscar and his sharp suit recede from her attention when she sees Mike off in the distance, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee.

 

He makes eye contact with her, downs the entire mug and sets it on a nearby bookshelf. 

 

Oscar doesn’t seem to notice her distraction, and is going on about enzymes and CT results. Ginny watches Mike’s body, waiting for his signal. He rests his right hand on his left wrist, covering his watch and then tracing his forefinger around the dial 5 times.

 

Ginny nods slightly, like he’s calling the screwball and she’s already got her fingers in formation.

 

It’s on.

 

//

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the beta and best trashcan roommate a girl could ever ask for-- the lovely fairytiger. 
> 
> Go listen to Ella Fitzgerald's "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve" and the La La Land soundtrack if you want to know where my headspace is currently.
> 
> Blip and Evelyn's party strategy is based on a friend of mine and her husband, who are truly party couple goals. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at auraispurple for more Pitch madness and general lack of chill


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